


Resistance

by Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon Disabled Character, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/pseuds/Pragnificent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, standing with the other Tributes arrayed in a large circle around him, the inhibitor collar was heavy around Erik’s neck. There were bombs under his feet, Erik knew though he could not currently sense them, common bits of metal wire connected to enough explosives to tear his body apart.</p><p>The collars would fall off when the clock ran down. He didn’t have much time.</p><p>The telepath was on his left. Charles Xavier, who could kill with a thought, was widely considered to be the inevitable Victor. </p><p>Erik spoke to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resistance

For the people of the Capitol, the newly emerged Mutants were seen as a novelty - the latest sensation, a delightful distraction. Overnight, blue scales and shimmering dragonfly wings had become the latest in high fashion. Capitol citizens encrusted their skins with cubic zirconia and almost - almost but never quite - perceived the wonder of it all.

It was different in the Districts.

In District 12 - Erik’s home - the Mutants had quickly become symbols of resistance. Mutants had the power and ability to defy the will of the Capitol, and that defiance inspired normal humans do the same. And Erik had played his own role in fomenting this growing rebellion - a large and active role.

He’d started out with sabotage, quietly putting dangerous and outdated mining equipment out commission, forcing replacements to be brought in.

When Erik had become aware of the presence of other Mutants they had become collectively bolder under his leadership. He’d convinced Alex and Armando to use their respective talents to collapse an especially deadly mineshaft. Kitty Pryde went from occasionally slipping through the walls of the storehouse to expropriate food for desperate families to taking weapons, which Erik had helped to hide in the woods.

It was during these excursions past the borders of the District that Erik had happened across Azazel, an especially striking-looking Mutant who had been living alone in a cabin in the woods. It was through the teleporter that Erik had been able to make contact with Mutants and other rebels in the other districts. That was how they had come to know that they were not alone, how they had come to believe that they could fight together and win.

But the ax had fallen before they could begin the battle in earnest. Now, standing on his start pad with the other Tributes arrayed in a large circle around him, the inhibitor collar was heavy around Erik’s neck. There were bombs under his feet, Erik knew though he could not currently sense them, common bits of metal wire connected to enough explosives to tear his body apart.

 

The collars would fall off when the clock ran down. He didn’t have much time.

The inhibitor collars were a new feature of this year’s Hunger Games. A number of things were different about this year’s Games, and Erik understood perfectly well that this was because the Capitol was scared. Not the citizens - most of them didn’t have the sense for that - but the folks in charge could see the shape of things to come and Erik thought that they were just about scared out of their minds. As bad as things looked at the moment, this knowledge gave Erik confidence.

Another thing that had changed about this year’s Games was that the Tributes, rather than being selected by lottery during the ceremony in the District’s square, had been taken out of their beds in the night. This was because every Tribute was also a Mutant, many of which had extremely impressive abilities. Several of them had been part of the ring of rebels that Erik had been forming when he was taken.

His friends were part of this circle and in less than a minute they would all be expected to kill one another, but Erik wasn’t looking at them. His eyes were fixed on the telepath, the boy from the Capitol.

That was another thing that was different; this time around, there were twenty-six Tributes instead of the usual twenty-four. This year, two children had been taken from Capitol families.

Erik could see why the Gamemakers had done it, though he was betting on the hope that they had made a mistake. This year’s Hunger Games weren’t just about beating any shred of rebellion out of the Districts. There was more to it. It was about turning Mutants against each other, the same way that the Games had always aimed to divide the Districts by forcing their children to fight one another.

And it was about showing the besotted Capitol viewers that Mutants - even those born among them, even their own children - were dangerous. More now than ever, the Games were about division and fear, but this time it wasn’t just the Districts that were supposed to be afraid.

The one Mutant that in particular was meant to show the citizens of the Capitol just how frighteningly deadly the threat that had been incubating among them really was stood directly to Erik’s left; Charles Xavier, one of the two first ever Capitol Tributes, who was widely considered to be the inevitable Victor.

He was younger than Erik by a couple of years, only fifteen and small at that. Under the bright lights of the Arena he was very pale but his face was set in a serious, nearly serene, expression.

It was generally believed that the kid could kill the other Tributes with his mind, and many had speculated that this would be the shortest ever Hunger Games. Erik had heard that there was a telepathy-proof helmet in the Cornucopia, but didn’t expect to get there in time to put it on if Charles really did mean to win this thing.

The thing was, Charles had vowed to anyone who would listen that he wasn’t going to fight. That hadn’t gotten much play before the Capitol audiences, but Erik had heard rumors from the other Tributes who had spoken to him. Erik hadn’t dared to approach the boy himself (that would have attracted too much attention, might have given away the plan) but people said Charles was talking cooperation - not just between Mutants and humans, but between the Districts and the Capitol. He was talking freedom, freedom for everyone.

Erik thought he could work with that.

But now, Charles’ fingers were locked around the handrims of his wheelchair, clutching so tightly that his fingers were white and bloodless. Erik was no telepath, but he could see the wheels turning in Charles’ head. And he could see the way the muscles in Charles’ arms were bunched to propel the wheelchair forward.

He was thinking about moving off his pad before the clock ran down. He was thinking about opting out of everything that was coming.

Erik wasn’t sure if they were allowed to talk to one another.

“You don’t want to do that,” Erik said, pitching his voice as low as he could while still being heard. He waited to see if the bomb beneath him would explode. It didn’t.

Charles turned the chair toward Erik, and Erik was gratified at least to see that he was careful to stay on the start pad. “What do you know about it?” he asked. He was scared, Erik saw, but working hard to master that fear.

There were twenty-five seconds left on the clock. “Listen,” Erik said quickly. “I need your help. When the collars come off - put them to sleep. Everyone except you and me.”

Charles shook his head, sad but resigned. “I’m not going to help you kill them.” His eyes seemed very old and Erik wondered if that was the way with telepaths. Charles added more firmly, “I won’t do it. I won’t take part in this.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do,” Erik said, but before he could say more the collar around his neck clicked audibly and slipped from his neck.

There was a flurry of movement around Erik but then there wasn’t, as the other Tributes ran or leapt or flew from their start pads only to freeze suddenly in place. The ones who had been airborne tumbled to the ground and lay still, like statues that had been toppled over.

Charles was watching him very closely, two fingers pressed to his temple. Erik felt a peculiar sensation inside his head, and he wanted to ask Charles what he was doing, poking around inside his brain, but he didn’t. The Gamemakers were watching, he knew, and he didn’t want to give away more than was absolutely necessary.

Erik heard Charles’ voice inside his head, echoing strangely.

 _You want to save them,_ the voice said. It did not strike Erik as a question, so much as Charles confirming for himself what he already understood. _You want to fight. You want me to help you to get them to fight together, so we can all get out of here alive. You aren’t sure if it will work, but you want to try anyway._

Erik was surprised to hear his own thoughts repeated back to him in such simple terms. Charles nearly made it sound easy. “Yes,” he said.

“Okay,” Charles said out loud. Inside Erik’s head, Charles said, _I’ll help you._

And the next thought that Charles projected went into the minds of all of the twenty-five other Tributes.


End file.
